Saturday, February 26, 2011

Winter Writings: Day 67

Words flash neon above the door;
Redemption and salvation
gather in the crisscross lines
of her weathered face
inking garish tattoos
revelations of a tortured life.
"Free shelter from the cold."
She eyes the door warily,
dreaming of the comfort of a hot bath
and layers of warm blanckets
and someone who cares.
She holds tightly to her cart
where mult-color trashbags
organize her life in chapters.
And she knows she cannot let it go.
She slowly turns away,
not willing to risk losing all
for the promise of a warm bed.
She curls up in a ball
just outside the station
one arm intertwined with her cart
and sleeps a dreamless sleep
Her heart harbors memories
of ordinary days when she
gathered moonbeams on the mountain
and danced in the streets with the sun
The morning brings another day
of listening to her many voices,
each dressed in layers
of a face presented
daily to passing motorists;
Her cardboard sign begging for attention,
"Need Help! All help is good".

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